#esajori

meme | accepting / sexuality + gender diversity headcanons

have there been other meaningful people of the same or similar identities in your muse’s life that they’ve looked for support or understanding from? how did that go, and was the impact positive or negative in the end?

HEADCANON 287.   this is mostly verse dependent because it could be vergil   (   not all of them of course but those,  when younger   and now,   who are transgender or are under the nb umbrella as well   )   or it could be nero’s who are as above as well.  depends on dynamic with various characters in the story and their muns   . .  

but jumping off that diving board and rolling into my timeline canon   –   there was one.  gaia housed and loved him like a son when he was growing up on morris island.  she died trying to protect him   –   she was a transwoman who helped him understand himself in his mid kid years  (   at most he was about ten  -  thirteen probably.  )   until she was unable to continue.  later on gavreel took that spot for him.  she was a cast out angel and,  well,  i dunno if she counts but she supported him as much as she could in helping him learn more about himself until she couldn’t either.   BOTH  were positive in scope.

otherwise its a hit or miss as mentioned in paragraph one because it depends mostly on the mun i write with   . .  if its a generic deal it’d be a big fat no outside of gaia and gavreel.  they’ve looked for support in the community but,  well,  he’s hesitant to really jump out there besides pride(s)  because he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt because he’s around.  

what are your muse’s feelings towards stereotypes relating to their identity? do they affect their self-image, or how they perceive others?

HEADCANON 288.   [  looks into the camera like he’s in the office  ]   honestly that’s how he feels with it   –  he’s been the brunt at the start of his journey and once or twice even now that they  “  didn’t realize  “  he was trans due to how masculine he was and / or how he held himself.  its sorta like   . .  does it matter   ??   not every trans person will look the same my dudes.  all in all he hates the stereotypes and if they ever show up in conversation or he sees them he’ll give a piece of his mind about it.

               𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥,  𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥,  𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡,  these towering buildings that scrape the sky and eclipse the sun are,  ironically,  all she has left to cling to.  they are impassive,  reflections in the glass as emotionless as the ties to them and the land they stand on,  but they mean wealth and fortune,  enough so that the blood of legions have been spilled time and time again over territories,  over objects,  that shouldn’t mean anything.

rangiku has lost enough in this wretched city of metal skeletons and cracked concrete where even weeds struggle to thrive.  she has lost her beloved,  her best friend,  and the remains of his empire rest in her trembling hands that don’t yet know how to fight to keep it all from crumbling down in a pile of rubble and ash around her feet.  ruthless as she could be,  as strong and capable as she is,  she doesn’t know how to manage all of this alone.  it was not her stake to claim,  and yet she finds it in her hands with the broken masses staring at her,  clinging to her.  it is her family,  now.  she never wanted to lead them,  that had been his job,  but he is gone now.  and now,  slowly,  little by little and day by day,  she finds faces that don’t belong to her upon lands that were once her own,  the faces of dead men once loyal to her,  the faces of family who have turned their backs on her.

she blinks in her brooding silence.  daylight fades from her eyes,  and with it went the glow of radiance and its warmth.  it’s a flickering,  dying flame that howling winds threaten to snuff out,  but these winds are just a gentle breeze and the flame is weak without heart.  sitting up,  she forces a smile to rest over her lips.  her brooding lasted only a fraction of a second,  but beneath an observant eye,  it is a thousand years.  a fingertip runs along the edge of her cup,  plastic and clear and stained with the rouge of her lips.  her eyes flicker up,  meeting the gaze of eyes so steely and cold as the buildings of the city  ;  they carry the same depth that shatters her in awe and renders her breathless in wonder.

               𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜,  𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤'𝐬 𝐫𝐡𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬,  just as much so as the clicking of her heels against the marbled floor,  shining with a reflected glow beneath stark white lights.  those nails of hers are unnaturally and unsettlingly long,  claws born and manicured to rake against supple,  wanting flesh.  and yet,  they are so gentle,  feather  -  light in their dance,  as she taps them against his shoulder,  their tips pressing into the fabric of his shirt and against the skin beneath in a taunting,  teasing,  fashion.  evelynn keeps her lashers at bay,  feeding into the illusion that they are but a part of her ensemble,  that they are not deadly knives akin to steel that are a part of her as much as her other limbs.  she doesn’t allow them to dance,  to caress,  to kiss and tease  —  not yet,  not now.

               in all of her time spent as a warrior of light of eorzea, for all the malms and malms she had traveled across the expanse of their world, she never once considered that her travels would lead her back to her homeland, othard. the skatay range remained distant, still, but there was an air of familiarity in walking these lands once more, and although it came with the slight touch of nostalgia, there was an ache that felt as if it was spreading from within her chest to her ribs. past memories existed at the will of the cruelty of fate.

wait you’re so tall actually